Clandestine
by Nicolette C-137
Summary: "Kyle might be able to look passed the fact that they're brothers on some level, since they're not technically blood-related, but Ike's five years younger, and still basically a kid; precocious as he may be." (Kyle/Ike)


**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of the following characters.**

* * *

"Boys, dinner's ready!" Sheila's voice carries upstairs, where Kyle tears himself away from his math problem, and Ike marks his place in his book. They exit their rooms at practically the same time, meeting each other in the eerily dark and quiet hallway. Ike smirks flirtatiously, and Kyle furrows his eyebrows in response, feeling his face heat up. They silently descend the stairs, walking close enough for their arms to brush against each other.

They're world is one of sneaky gestures: stealing touches; flirting with their eyes; using body language. Whispers float throughout the house; in the kitchen, late at night; around their bedroom and bathroom doorways; in the otherwise empty halls. Words are too dangerous to be spoken aloud. There's all this quiet tension; deafeningly loud silence.

In the kitchen, their parents are already seated across from each other, so Kyle sits opposite of Ike. He immediately digs in, half-listening to his parents ramble on about their day. It's not a very interesting conversation, and their voices quickly become background noise. He's completely absorbed in the beef stew that Sheila makes every Monday.

All of a sudden, Kyle feels something graze the side of his foot. He looks up from his plate, at his brother, who's smirking crookedly at him.

"Kyle," Sheila suddenly says, causing the redhead to jump. "How was your day, Bubula?"

"Um..." Kyle doesn't quite know how to concentrate with Ike's toes brushing against his ankle. "It was, um... It was good."

"How do you think you did on your test?"

"Good," Kyle repeats. He may not be a genius, like his adopted brother—who's thirteen years old, and already a sophomore—but he's still one of the top students at their school; he always passes his tests.

"And how was _your_ day?" Sheila asks, turning to Ike.

"Alright." He shrugs, running his foot up Kyle's leg. "I corrected my physics teacher, and inadvertently pissed him off. It was pretty funny." Kyle doesn't understand how Ike can nonchalantly carry on a conversation with their parents, while kneading Kyle's inner thigh. "Just another ordinary day at South Park High." When Ike's foot brushes against Kyle's crotch, the redhead decides that enough is enough. He kicks Ike's leg out of his lap, and gives it a couple extra kicks for good measure. "Ow!" Ike kicks back, so Kyle kicks more, and suddenly they won't stop kicking each other.

"Boys!" Sheila snaps, furrowing her eyebrows; teetering on the edge of anger and worry. "What's gotten into you two?"

They settle down, and go back to eating their beef stew, like nothing happened. Sheila eventually stops staring at them, like she's waiting for them to start kicking each other again, or for something even more random to happen; as though everyone at the table will spontaneously combust if she doesn't take her eyes off them.

* * *

After dinner, Kyle retreats to the living room to watch TV. Unfortunately, he's accompanied by Ike, who sits unnecessarily close, and rests his head on Kyle's shoulder. Sheila gushes about how cute they look, when she pops in to grab her magazine; not realizing how quickly Kyle's face turns a deep shade of red. When they're alone again, Ike suggests giving Kyle a handjob under the blanket draped over the back of the couch, but Kyle tells Ike to shut up and pay attention to the documentary. Ike obeys, but their proximity makes this feel too intimate to Kyle. Though, he supposes that's what Ike's striving for: intimacy.

They end up watching the _Science_ channel for a couple hours, and eventually switch to re-runs of _Terrance and Phillip._ Their parents basically stay in the kitchen, where Gerald is probably reading the newspaper, and Sheila's preparing a dish for the upcoming party their attending. Ike eventually takes advantage of their privacy, nuzzling his face into the crook of Kyle's neck, and peppering it with kisses. His lips tingle against Kyle's skin, and each kiss sends a jolt of electricity through the redhead's body.

"Dude," Kyle gently pushes Ike away, "do you wanna get caught?" Ironically, their parents choose this exact moment to saunter into the living room, and Ike's actually grateful that Kyle stopped him, for once.

It's still fairly early, but Gerald and Sheila are finally calling it a night, claiming to be exceptionally tired _(yeah, right)_. As they head upstairs, Sheila warns the boys about staying up too late.

Ike's lips are on Kyle again, as soon as they hear their parents' bedroom door close. They're alone as Ike feels they're ever going to be, and his patience is wearing thin; he wants Kyle _now._

Kyle's heart beats rapidly, as Ike begins planting light kisses along his jawline and nibbling at his earlobe. He keeps forgetting to breathe. Everything is hazy and blurry and fuzzy.

"They've gone to bed," Ike whispers into Kyle's ear, like Kyle didn't already know. Ike's breath is still hot against Kyle's ear, though, and his husky tone is quickly unraveling the other. "Wanna fool around?"

Whether or not Kyle _wants_ to fool around is irrelevant. He might be able to look passed the fact that they're brothers on some level, since they're not technically blood-related, but Ike's five years younger, and still basically a kid; precocious as he may be.

"We can't—" Kyle starts to protest, but Ike's suddenly on his lap, straddling him. "Dude." Ike kisses Kyle's neck again, nipping gently; caressing Kyle's chest; grinding against him ever so slightly, until Ike can feel him getting hard. Kyle throws his head back, and pinches his eyes closed, enjoying every second of this, but unable to ignore his conscience. A voice in the back of his head repeatedly screams at him to "Wake the fuck up!" because "this isn't right!" He just wants to let Ike keep rocking his hips back and forth, like that, but, if Kyle doesn't stop himself now, he might lose himself completely. "Sto—" Ike cuts Kyle off by kissing him. Well, trying to, at least.

Kyle shoves Ike off his lap, onto the couch.

"The fuck?"

"Dude, I told you to _stop!_ "

"But, why?" Ike asks, straightening himself out. "You were enjoying it, weren't you?" He says matter-of-factly. He's not flirting, just being straight-forward. "Why are you fighting it?"

"We've already been through this."

"We're not even related, Kyle."

Kyle sighs. Apparently, they have to go through it again. "You're thirteen years old; barely a teenager."

Ike rolls his eyes. "Stop treating me like a kid."

"You _are_ one," Kyle stresses. He can't take having this same argument for the dozenth time, so he decides to just get out of here, before it can really heat up.

Ike rolls his eyes, watching the redhead walk away. "So, you're just gonna spend the rest of the night in your room?"

"Yep."

"Have fun with your hand." As the sound of Kyle's footsteps gradually fade, Ike feels the hole in his chest expanding, leaving him empty. He knows there's something between them—whatever Ike feels, Kyle feels, too—but maybe they just need to give it some time. Maybe Kyle will be able to give them a chance someday. Ike hopes so.


End file.
